


You Think You've Got Me, Don't You?

by ProfessorDrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Relationships, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Non-Canon Relationship, Pegging, Porn with Feelings, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22441126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: Ron is going to be a wreck no matter how many times Pansy makes him come like this. He's just starting to wonder if that's all he needs.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68





	You Think You've Got Me, Don't You?

**Author's Note:**

> I am supposed to be on HIATUS. ha. Right. Well, it came to my attention that Pansy had not been recently pegging Ron in the fic world. Trust me people. I. Looked. Not finding the story I wanted and etc etc meant that I have broken my own year and a bit long unintentional smut moratorium and here we are. Although I made Jade read it, it is unbetaed. We die like kings.

Pansy collapsing beside him brought Ron back to a place of awareness that he hadn't been capable of for quite a few minutes now. 

"You know," she said, panting still, "it's in moments like this that I suddenly understand that old cliched image of smoking after good sex." 

"What? Ron said. He'd heard her, understood her even, but his brain was not functioning; somewhere between lost in thought and lost to excessive orgasm, he had to suspect. She sighed at him and threw an arm across his chest in what would have been a possessive way to anyone who wasn’t Pansy.

"You know,” she insisted, “that old picture of the femme fatale, a fag stuck in her mouth the minute she rolls off him? If I still smoked, I'd be such a cliche right now." 

Ron winced. "Don't say fag." 

Pansy smirked at him. He didn't even have to look to know. He could practically  _ feel  _ the muscles required tensing against his torso. She rolled herself up, dragging her breasts against him for good measure. 

"Why not, darling?" she purred. 

"It's a disgusting word,” he growled. “The history of it alone should—" 

"Oh, yes, I  _ know _ , Weasley. My best friend is gay, after all." She was staring at him now, reaching past him to the toy that was resting on the mattress. "As long as you're sure that it has absolutely  _ nothing  _ to do with how much you just enjoyed this lovely number shoved up your—" 

"Pansy," he protested. 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, darling. You have such a wonderful little erogenous zone up there. It would be a shame to waste all that moaning and—”    
  
He wordlessly groaned and batted at her hand. She laughed, poking him gently on the chest with the still-slicked strap-on before throwing it to the ground and settling back down. She nuzzled her way into his neck and waited patiently for him to relax. 

"I'm sorry," she murmured sleepily a moment later. "Only, you're just beautiful to tease. Everything goes so red." 

Ron ignored her in favour of holding her tightly against him and savouring the moment of tenderness she seemed to be allowing. He let the discontent and restlessness wash over him, closing his eyes against the wave of nausea. It didn’t make any sense. For all intents and purposes, he should be  _ happy.  _ The restaurant was doing well. The whole gang was fine; content and happy to be living their mediocre lives. Even this, the sex with Pansy thing, was brilliant and required very little thought. 

_ You need to get out more, that’s all _ , Hermione kept saying. He didn’t disagree. He just didn’t want to  _ be  _ out with those people who wanted him out. It wasn’t that he had a hard time seeing her with Theo. He gave her more than he’d ever been able to offer, in many ways; even their intellectual conversations bored him to tears. Booksmart and philosopher was a sweet pairing and he begrudged her nothing. And Harry and Draco had long ago stopped being an issue for him. Truthfully, he wasn’t even bothered by not telling them about Pansy. 

Some of the reasons he didn’t care were petty and childish. The whole gang matching up with Slytherins? It was ludicrous and he wasn’t going to fall prey to the simplicity. Other, unconscious and deeply troubling reasons for his silence were more complicated. This was, after all, Pansy  _ freaking  _ Parkinson. She was not nice. She was not ‘bring home to Molly Weasley’ material. She was made of sharp edges like broken glass. Or pieces of fire that blazed to life when you least expected it. Even if she did seem to enjoy getting him off once in a while, there was no way he’d satisfy her for a life of dull evenings spent alone while he cooked, of poor people hand-me-down furniture and first story flats. Not that it mattered. It definitely wasn’t his arrangement with Pansy that was sending him over the deep end.    
  
But it was  _ something,  _ and he couldn’t put his finger on it.    
  
“You going to tell me what’s wrong?” Pansy asked suddenly, stirring against his side. Her voice was soft, gentle. Not a tone he’d heard from her before. It made him shiver just slightly; he wasn’t sure he’d survive a sweet side of Parkinson. 

“No,” he said, tone clipped. He reached over, turning the lamp off by hand as an excuse to look away. “Everything is fine.”    
  
It could only have been a few short minutes later when the light snapped back on and his head was being attacked by his own pillow, which had been wrenched out from under his neck. 

“How could you let me fall asleep here?” Pansy demanded, dropping the pillow and pulling on her top. “I’m going to be late for work.”    
  
Panties and trousers later, with a bra shoved hastily in her bag, she dropped herself down on the side of the bed to pull on her stupidly long boots. She hesitated a moment before leaning in and dropping a kiss on Ron’s forehead. It was so unlike her that he flinched. She resolutely ignored him and stood up. 

“I’ll see you later, right?” She announced. “Night off and all that.”    
  
“Can’t. I have a date.”    
  
“A what?” she replied.    
  
“A date. Hermione set me up. You know, food and conversation. Outside. Near other people. I know you aren’t fond of them, but I thought you were at least  _ familiar  _ with the term.”    
  
She turned to face him and her expression was murderous; to the unpracticed eye, it may have just looked like a smirk. But Ron knew better. She was looking at him with death in her heart. A telepathic message reading  _ you’ll pay for that _ communicated through one delicately, incrementally arched eyebrow. He shivered in anticipation even as he chuckled at her openly. 

“Alright,” she drawled a moment later, throwing a jacket over her shoulders. At the last second, her smirk widened and she stooped down, picking the strap-on up off the floor. With a twirl of the band around her finger, she dropped it down on the bed. “Have fun. On your  _ date. _ ” 

* * *

He was decidedly  _ not  _ having fun on his date. He was sure that somewhere, deep,  _ deep  _ down, this girl was lovely. It was even possible, he supposed, that she had a personality. But wherever and whatever it was, he was not getting the privilege of seeing it. They were only half-way through appetizers and Ron had already finished an entire whiskey sour and had moved on to beer. He was slightly ashamed that he was drinking at all; at the same time, since he had no intentions of ever sitting through another meal with this innocuous person across from him, he tamped down his good grooming and drank deeply as she told him about the best way to prune a succulent in the spring. 

An hour and ten minutes later, he walked her to the tube, declared that he only lived around the block and was going to walk, and exhaled so loudly in relief when she left that he frightened a man passing by. 

“Well,” he said to no one in particular, running a hand through his hair. “Can’t say I didn’t try.” 

Tipping his rather drunk self down a nearby alley, Ron made a very questionable jump to the front door of Pansy and Millicent’s flat, gently knocking on the door. It wasn’t that late, but it was also Wednesday. Even drunk, he could manage to be civil. His mother had seen to that. 

“Pans,” Millie called out, distastefully eyeing him as he leaned against the doorjamb. “Your  _ plaything  _ is here.”    
  
Since she left the door open as she walked away, he decided that was enough of an invitation to make his way unsteadily to Pansy’s room. The door was open and she sat on her bed in grey sweats and a cropped sweater, reading a surprisingly large book. She looked up at him lazily. She wasn’t wearing makeup, her glasses were on. She had a very smug expression on that made his groin tighten; clearly, they’d both expected him to arrive.    
  
“Why that can’t  _ possibly  _ be Ronald Weasley at my bedroom door,” she drawled, closing the book and sitting up to look at him properly. “He had a  _ date _ . A date that was to occupy  _ all  _ of his time this evening.”    
  
“I’ll go, then,” he joked, smirking and pushing himself up off the doorframe. She watched him carefully. 

“That is a horrible jacket,” she stated, crossing her arms over her knees.    
  
“You love this jacket,” he teased. “You’re just mad at me.”    
  
“Oh really? And why would I be mad at you?” Pansy sneered.

Ron grinned. He’d won, even if she  _ was  _ going to make him work for it for a few more minutes. He quickly shrugged off the offending article and toed off his shoes. Trying to ignore how foolish he felt, he swung the door shut and moved to kneel on her bed, leaning down until he hovered over her.    
  
“I dunno,” he mocked, letting his voice drop low. “Why  _ would  _ you be mad, Pansy?”    
  
She fought against her grin, but he was too close to her face to miss the twitch and he risked her swat to lean in and kiss her, slow and deep. A moment passed before she relinquished and let herself fall back, dragging him by the hair to follow. 

“I should make you pay for this,” she hissed, tugging at the buttons of his purple dress shirt, managing to untuck it and undo it at the same time.    
  
“For what, my shirt?” Ron replied, mocking her as he helped her release his chest. “I hardly think my shirt did anything wrong.”    
  
“You’re right,” she continued, unbuttoning his trousers while hastily kissing newly exposed skin. “You’re trousers have been far more offensive.”    
  
“Oh dear,” he whimpered, her breath hot against his torso. “I hope you have some good plans for teaching them their lesson.”    
  
“Oh,  _ Merlin _ , Weasley. Shut the fuck up.” 

Pansy reached down for her own sweats, dragging them down to reveal her naked self. She smirked up at his blush.

“I wasn’t expecting company, remember. Pants, off,” she demanded.

She reached over and picked up her wand, casting the silencing charm that had become the only magic he ever saw her use. While he scrambled out of his pants, she also opened the drawer beside her bed, which at this point, made him moan in anticipation and then blush in the shame of his embarrassment. She chuckled at his reaction, but the sound was breathless, husky. She could tease him all she wanted, but she’d said it herself. They were  _ good  _ at this. She was just as ready.    
  
“You know what to do,” she whispered, sitting up on her knees and kissing him on the shoulder as he moved into position. 

The all fours never stopped embarrassing him. Until, that is, Pansy’s breath would pass over his cheeks, her hands spreading him wide. Then all embarrassment fled. He’d never even had to ask her for this; she’d just leaned down one day, her mouth popping off his head and asking, ‘want me to try it?’ before her hands were prodding in places he’d never felt. Places, it turned out, were the simplest yet most extreme form of pleasure he’d ever imagined. More importantly, though, from that day onward, she’d never once made him feel like he  _ should  _ be embarrassed. Oh sure, she’d tease him later, but at that moment — that second where her fingers pushed past the tension of his hole, or the plastic of a toy vibrated it’s way past his hesitation — she would just be there, murmuring soft encouragement, telling him he was gorgeous. 

“I don’t have a toy, lovely boy,” she whispered now, her hands massaging his cheeks as she pulled him apart. “My tongue will have to do.” 

He whimpered and leaned back into her touch. 

She chuckled kindly. “I see you don’t quite mind, do you darling? Look at you, all splayed out and ready for me. Did you think about this? While you sat at dinner today? Were you just there, waiting to come here and pretend you didn’t  _ need  _ me...”    
  
“Pansy,” he huffed, trying to shove apology into his voice. 

She laughed again and leaned down, licking a stripe across the bottom of his balls, taking his already full cock in her hands and circling her tongue around his perineum until he whined. He knew she could make him come right now, just pressure against this spot. She’d done it before. But he didn’t want that now, though he couldn’t say why. 

He wanted her facing him; he wanted her face close to his when his orgasm was allowed to make an appearance. He could tell even now, even in these early teasing stages, that Pansy had plans to make him suffer tonight. She squeezed his cock a little too hard, pushing her tongue higher and higher until finally delving deep into him without preparation or preamble. The lube she’d brought out sat beside her on the bed, unused and ignored. She sat at his hole, lazily licking and sucking in equal measure before pulling back with a sloppy pop that made him groan. 

“Condom, darling,” she said firmly. “I’m not letting you have all the fun tonight. You haven’t earned that.”

Her tone was light, but there was an edge there, too. Just enough that he didn’t fight her. Ron reached down and took the offered rubber, rolling onto his back to apply it. She watched him from the edge of the bed, still poised on her knees, naked and unashamed. He never broke eye contact, trying to decide what was happening here.    
  
“Legs,” she demanded when he was finished. She picked up the lube and was between his thighs the moment he hiked up his thighs, shamelessly exposing himself to her; he could feel himself contracting already, waiting for her attentions. 

“So needy,” she mocked. “Yet, so dumb. Why, Ron?” 

“W-what?” he asked, not caring how desperate he sounded. She sighed at him. 

“Never mind,” she whispered, finally taking her now lubed finger to his arse and crooking it immediately upon entry. He was being toyed with, whether or not the strap-on was present. Unfortunately, he was too far gone already to care. He’d been here for less than ten minutes, and he was already helpless. She leaned down until her mouth was on his cock, moving down the head in an improbable rhythm that looked uncomfortable and made him whimper helplessly.    
  
“Pansy,” he finally managed, shuddering as she beat against his prostate relentlessly. “Pansy, stop.”    
  
She looked up at him from her place on his cock and popped off swiftly. “What? Something wrong?”    
  
“Come here,” he growled, briefly lamenting the loss of pressure in his arse as she complied and he released his legs. “Need you, okay? Sorry.”    
  
She blinked at him as she hovered over him, bracing her arms on either side of his not insubstantial chest. He moved his hands to grasp her shoulders. The violet in her eyes was blazing, shimmering with something that could have been mistaken for emotion. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. 

She cleared her throat and leaned down, her breath against his throat; she wouldn’t kiss him now. She despised that,  _ after _ . He hated that he couldn’t just hold her to him now. He was shaking with lust, needing to finish what she had started. But the vulnerability on her face, in her posture, it demanded something from him. He gripped face in his hands and looked at her, trying to say the things he needed to say. 

She nodded slightly and canted her hips as she leaned back; before he was prepared, she’d sunk down onto him and was holding his hands in hers above his head. As she rode him in a steady rolling rhythm, her eyes never left his. He desperately tried to keep his hips still, letting her take what she needed. Eventually, it was impossible and he met her thrusts with rocking hips until he came with her name a scream on his lips. He silently let himself ride out the pleasure, let her release his hand and rub at her clit as she brought herself off after him. He said nothing as she rolled to the side and collapsed on the bed.    
  
“Don’t you fucking apologise again, Weasley,” she breathed. “God. Save me. You’re such a weird fucking sap.” 

“I know,” he whispered. “It’s horrible.”    
  
For a few minutes, they laid in heavy silence, filled only with hitched breaths and awkward moments. Finally, Ron sat up, cleaning off a little and standing up.    
  
“You’re leaving?” Pansy asked, that gentle voice back in place. It made him pause. 

“Loo,” he whispered back. For good measure, he leaned back over the bed, ignored her slight recoil, and kissed her. When he got back, he found her back in her sweats, huddled beneath the rumpled sheets and head on her pillow. 

“Ron,” she said as he sat down on the bed. “Is this a thing we need to talk about? Because it’s starting to feel like something we need to talk about.”    
  
“I don’t know,” he said truthfully.    
  
“Was she great?” Pansy sneered.    
  
“Pansy, she was  _ horrible. _ Please, stop making me go out with people.”    
  
“How am I  _ making  _ you go out with people?” she demanded. 

“Because you won’t let me go out with you.”    
  
He waited for her sneer, her lashing jeer. Instead, she sat up, curling into herself again and would not meet his gaze. 

“You don’t actually want that, though,” she murmured, sounding pained and angry at herself. “I don’t think you even know that. You’ve wrapped up all this weird  _ feeling _ and put it on me, but I promise you, it won’t be long before you realise it’s just because I’m the person who’ll touch your butthole.”    
  
He spat out a surprised laugh. “Nice,” he teased. “Good word choice.”    
  
She fought against her own grin and put her forehead on her knees as she faced him. “It’s true, isn’t it?”    
  
“I honestly don’t know,” he shrugged. “I’m fine with just the sex. No, I actually am. But I feel like suddenly, you aren’t. And I don’t like that. And I don’t know  _ why _ I don’t, but I don’t. It’s making me unhappy. Because I don’t want you to be unhappy. So….sort that shit out.”    
  
“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she laughed, letting her knees fall down helplessly.    
  
“Pansy, come here,” he grinned. She laid down reluctantly and he scooped her into her side. “So, hit me. What will it take for you to admit you just want this to be a relationship?” She snorted. “I could let you tell our friends that you fingered me the first time we fucked? Would that make you feel better?”    
  


She laughed again and hugged him tightly. “You see? This is the fucking problem, Weasley. I don’t actually  _ care  _ if you tell our friends. I kind of  _ want  _ you to tell our friends. How fucked is that?”    
  
He grinned, coiling his hands in her hair. “Pretty fucked. But what would you say to  _ me  _ wanting  _ you  _ to come with me to the markets on Sunday morning and help me buy produce? To the fact that I want a proper relationship, with brunch and family dinners and presents on my birthday?”    
  
“Dear  _ Salazar _ ,” Pansy groaned. “You mean to tell me that pegging you on a weekly basis isn’t enough of a gift?”    
  
“‘Fraid not, Parkinson. Those are my terms.”    
  
She sighed at him, hooking her leg around him. “Difficult negotiations, but I suppose I rather gave up my hand, didn’t I?”


End file.
